Friday is Show and Tell day.  Don't you just love Mary of Canada Girl for hosting this for us?  It's always a lot of fun and we often learn a lot, as well as have some fun.

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I do have to warn you, though, about this particular show and tell you are about to read.  This is not Antoinette's normal show and tell.  The title, "The Roosters That  Sent Me Over the Edge," might have very well been named, "The Roosters That Sent Antoinette to the Asylum."  With that in mind, bear with me as I try to recover.  I am using this show and tell as my therapy, as one might do on Oprah....

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It all started last spring, when we brought home 16 baby chicks.

 It  was exciting for the entire family.

These little baby chicks sure were cute when they were little and fuzzy.

But, as they started growing older, they lost some of their cuteness. The cute yellow and fuzzy ones, turned white, and got big and ugly.

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It was around July, I think it was, when I heard my first “cock-a-doodle-doo.”  It was kind of cute.  You know, like the song, Old McDonald Had A Farm.

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So, at first it was  kind of novel.  My childhood picture books coming alive.  A cute little rooster calling, “Cock A Doodle Doo,” in the morning.

It wasn’t long, though, that I discovered that those childhood story books of mine had been very misleading.  The cute little rooster did not cock a doodle doo just in the morning, but rather, he did this all day long.  Morning - all morning.  Afternoon - all afternoon, and into the evening. It was quiet when the chickens went to sleep at night,  but there were times when around 3 or 4 in the morning, I would hear them wake up and start with their all day, “cock a doodle doo” ing.

And if that wasn’t annoying enough….

After the first chicken that had "cock a doodle doo"  we noticed we had a second one that was responding to the cock a doodle doo cry.  Morning, afternoon, and into the evening, two cock a doodle doo’s.

And if that wasn’t irritating enough, we noticed that there was a third, yes, three, rooster’s cock a doodle doing from the early morning until late in the evening.

Then there were four,

And then there were five,

And then there were six,

And then there were seven,

And then there were eight,

And then there were nine….

NINE ROOSTERS!!!

Nine roosters that cock a doodle doo all day long.  Like I said, if that is not enough to send one to the asylum……

We had bought these “cute” little chickens because we thought it would be a fun children’s adventure for our family.  And wouldn’t it be cool when we started getting eggs?  

Yes, it was fun getting our own eggs from our own back yard, yet, the nine roosters “cock a doodle dooing” all morning, afternoon and into the evening, was sending me straight to insanity.

I began to have hallucinations of gathering all of these roosters together, taking them down to the lake, and…..   Well, I guess I’ll let you fill in the blanks.

I got on the phone and started calling people asking if anyone would like some free roosters.  There were no takers. 

O.k. maybe I’ll send them to the kind of place that prepares them for the dinner table.  Again, I had no such luck.  There was no one that did that in this area (a long time ago there were, but not now I was told.)

I called my Amish friends.  Anyone want some free roosters?  No, I was told, no one wants any free roosters.  I was told that their not really even any good for the dinner table, because their meat is too tough.  If you want an edible rooster, you have to butcher it at 6 to 8 weeks, after their first cock a doodle doo.

And by the way, when you buy chickens, in their baby form, you cannot tell a rooster from a hen.  There are experts that can do this I have read, but even they are known to make a mistake here or there. 

O.k. what am I going to do with these nine roosters?  I cannot go another minute, day, week, or my worst nightmare – carry them into the winter and have to feed them and clean up after them and be driven to insanity by them….

So I made more phone calls.  I finally found a relative of my son-in-laws that knew the art of preparing a live chicken for the dinner table.

I called her and she said that she’d help me out.  Rooster meat is o.k. to eat, she told me, if you just cook it long enough.

My 16 year old daughter, Rachel, thought it would be cool to learn how to do this.  So I called LuAnn back and she said, “Sure, I’ll teach Rachel.”  When Rachel told her friends, they thought that it would be cool, too, and asked if they could come along.

Friday night we gathered all the roosters into our big dog cage – their not to eat or drink anything the night before.

Early Saturday morning, we loaded the roosters into the back of the truck, and four teenage girls into the back seat.  My other kids wanted to go along, so there were to be seven students attending this “class.”

I pulled up in front of the address of the home that I had been given.  When I got out, LuAnn and her husband were there to greet me.  We went into their back yard, and the assembly line had all been set up.  There was a tree stump for axing the head off while someone held the rooster’s wings.  There was a garbage can for the heads of the roosters. And then there was a big pot of boiling water for the roosters to be dumped in after being de-headed.  Then the roosters were put on the picnic table, having their feathers being plucked off.

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From there, they went into the house.  Here the girls learned how to clean out the insides of the rooster and others they learned how to cut up.  Everyone took turns.

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When we got home, I asked the girls to pose for a picture for their long day at work....

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I was told to put all the chickens into buckets of cold water for two hours.

I didn't have enough buckets for all of this, so I resorted to using  the bath tub, and the punch bowl...

When I put it in the punch bowl, I realized it wasn't going to work (too big) but I couldn't help

but taking a picture first...I threw a few flower petals on it...

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I wrapped all of the chickens in cellaphane, and froze them.  Except for the one in the punch bowl.  I cooked him the next day in our big roaster that I usually roast our Thanksgiving turkey in.  I did just what Louann had told me - to roast it for a very long time.  I served it to our homechurch Sunday afternoon.  It tasted just like your everyday ordinary chicken.  (Except I should have seasoned it more.)    Having been tormented all summer long by these roosters, I  couldn't help myself but to ask everyone to lift their first bite of chicken on their forks into the air, and as one might toast and say "cheers" with a glass of wine, we said together, "Cock a Doodle Doo."

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Maybe my mental state did get altered after all....

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But I sure am enjoying the peace and quiet.